


What You Wish For

by randi2204



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dawn's new life started and it was so much the same as her old one that at first she didn't even notice the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: For the [nekid_spike](http://community.livejournal.com/nekid_spike/profile) Fantasy Island challenge. I chose lilithbint's prompt of "Dawn wants to be the Slayer". Some violence against a minor, but nothing worse than anything that happened on the show.
> 
> Disclaimer: All Joss, not mine, no money.

What You Wish For

 

Dawn’s new life started and it was so much the same as her old one that at first she didn’t even notice the difference.

 

“Dawn!” Buffy’s voice carried easily through Dawn’s bedroom door.  “Mom says it’s time to haul your lazy butt out of bed!”

 

She rolled onto her stomach and pulled the pillow over her ears.  “Go away, freak,” she muttered into the mattress.  It wasn’t quite loud enough for Buffy to hear through the door, because Dawn wasn’t quite stupid enough to insult her sister like that without the cushioning of some kind of banter.

 

After a moment, her door shuddered under the application of a couple of kicks.  “Come on, you’re going to be late!  And believe me when I say that I _will_ find a way to make your life utterly miserable if you make _me_ late, too!”

 

Quiet descended, and Dawn lifted the pillow way from her ear just enough to hear Buffy stomping down the stairs.  For a second, she debated curling back up into her covers and trying to get a few more minutes of sleep.  _Who knows what she’ll do to me next time, though?_ she thought and grumbled her way out of bed to get ready for school.  _Having a sister with super-strength should _so_ be against the law…_

 

The bottle on her dresser gave her pause.  It was marked with a cross on the front and filled with a clear liquid.  _O-kay_, she thought, picking it up and staring at it more closely.  _So, I ought to be able to recognize holy water by now.  The question here is not _what is it, _but_ why is it out in plain sight?_  This should_ totally _be in my purse so that I can defend myself when we go out to the Bronze.  If my uber-protective sister even _lets_ me._

 

But there was a stake in her purse.  Slowly, she pulled it out, handling it like it was a three-week dead frog.  It seemed… _sloppy_, there was no other word for it, like whoever had carved it only cared that it had one end that was pointy and sharp.

 

_Weirder and weirder,_ she thought, frowning down at the barely-adequate stake.  _The last time Buffy caught me with a stake, she yelled so much she actually went hoarse, and it was all _you shouldn’t have that_ and _I can protect you_ and _no _way_ are you going on patrol with me _ever.  Then she took all the… stakes… Hey, this looks like one of the stakes _I _carved.  She mocked it!  Why did she give it back?_

 

That was a puzzle that Dawn decided she could work out some other time, like when Buffy wasn’t doing her impersonation of justifiably irate older sister. With a shrug, she put the stake on her dresser next to the holy water.  _I’ll deal with it later…_

 

She was searching under the bed for her other shoe when her fingers touched something cool and metallic.  It was half-buried under a couple of shirts that she should have put in the hamper and a magazine she’d thought Buffy had stolen.

 

It was a sword.  The edge was somewhat blunted, but the grip fit her hand very well.  It also felt light compared to some of the other ones Buffy had in her weapon chest.  Standing, Dawn gave it a couple of experimental swings. _Hey, this is nice… and go, me for managing to not knock over the lamp!_

 

Looking at it more carefully, she realized that there were actually nicks in the blade, as if someone had tried to behead a stone, and guilt flickered to life.  _I mean, I don’t _remember_ making it all worn, but I suppose I must have.  Why else would I be hiding it under the bed?_

 

Reluctantly, she brought the sword with her when she made her way downstairs, hoping that Buffy wouldn’t be _too_ bitchy about it.

 

“Morning, sweetie,” Mom said, and her smile warmed Dawn all the way through.  Then her expression morphed into a small frown.  “Oh, Dawn.  What have I said about weaponry at the breakfast table?”

 

Dawn blinked, her mind completely blank.  “Um…”

 

“Here’s a hint,” Buffy said, digging another wedge out of her grapefruit.  “That there isn’t supposed to be any?”

 

“Oh, who asked you?” Dawn muttered, shifting the sword from hand to hand, trying to find the words she needed.  “It’s all blunt anyway,” she went on, almost apologetically, and laid it on the island.

 

She expected Buffy to pick it up and inspect it all critical-like, then give her that look that said _you’re always ruining my things_, even though she never actually spoke a word.

 

Instead, Buffy kind of cringed away from it, as if just having it sit there was closer than she wanted to be.  “Wait, is that the one you used to kill the goo demon?” Her sister’s face crinkled in distaste.  “Eww… you were _all_ covered with slime.  Get that thing out of here!  Mom and I are trying to eat!”

 

“Dawn, please,” Mom said in her _I’m irritated with you_ voice.  “Now is not the time.”

In reflex, she picked it up again.  “But…” she started, then stopped, catching sight of the calendar by the phone.

 

It said September 2001.

 

Several things hit her at once, things that she’d been ignoring.

 

***__

_But… that’s after Buffy died,_ and she somehow fought down the guilt and sorrow that always seemed to choke her when she thought about her sister falling from the tower.  _And… when she came back, she wasn’t like this.  And Mom didn’t come back, not for real._

 

_Willow__ and Tara were living here with me…  Tara was killed, and Willow went completely _psycho_ and tried to unmake me back into the Key.  At least Buffy cared enough to save me…_

 

_Buffy’s acting weird, too, like she’s never touched a weapon before, like… _Dawn could hardly finish her thought, because the idea was just so foreign.  _It’s like she’s _not_ the Slayer…_

 

_… and this sword really_ isn’t_ light, is it?_

 

***

The sword fell from her suddenly numb fingers, clattering to the floor.

 

“Dawn, are you all right?” Mom set down her coffee cup and stood up, her face creased in worry.  “You look a little pale.”

 

Buffy said nothing, but she was staring at Dawn over the rim of her juice glass, eyes wide then swiftly narrowing.

 

“Yeah, Mom,” Dawn managed, slowly focusing on the world again.  “I’m fine.”

 

Her mother’s hand was cool as it touched her forehead and cheek.  “I’m not so sure,” she replied.  “You feel a little warm, honey.  I think you should stay home today.”

 

“I’m fine, Mom.”  But she leaned a little against Mom’s hand; it had been _so long_ since she’d felt that gentle Mom-touch.

 

“Mo~om!” Buffy set down her glass, scowling.  “She’s just faking ‘cause she’s tired!”

 

“Even Slayers get sick,” Mom said firmly, shooting Buffy a look that made her flush and turn away.  “Mr. Wyndam-Pryce said so.”

 

_Wesley Whiner-Prig?_ Dawn thought, and just barely remembered to not say the words aloud.  Giles had called him that once, when he hadn’t been aware that Dawn had been around.  _Wait, does that mean _Wes_ is my Watcher?  Oh, _man_…_ She could recall – vaguely – when Wes tried to be Watcher to Buffy and Faith.  _Even though I technically didn’t exist then…_

 

_If I’m the Slayer, I definitely want_ Giles _to be my Watcher._

 

“Go on upstairs, Dawn,” Mom said, her tone gentle.  “I’ll check on you before I take Buffy to campus, okay?”

 

Somehow, she just couldn’t argue, not when her mother had somehow miraculously returned to life.  “Okay.”  She stooped to pick up the sword, and trudged back upstairs, ignoring Buffy’s spluttering.

 

It wasn’t all an act, because she hadn’t yet completely processed what had happened.  Down underneath the _stunned_, though, there was something else, something that she just wouldn’t be able to contain when it finally broke through, because…

 

_Because _I’m _the_ Slayer.

 

Back in Los Angeles, she’d known something was up with her sister _way_ before Mom and Dad even had a clue, and when she’d finally badgered Buffy into telling her, she’d been instantly envious.  _Like totally green,_ Dawn thought.  _Okay, so that’s not a _real_ memory, any more than anything else before the last few years is _real_, but still._

 

But even though she knew the memories were fake, planted by those monks when they made her from the Key, they _felt_ real.  They had made her into what she was, and shaped her memories, and what she remembered best was that ever since she’d found out about her sister, she’d _wanted_ to be the Slayer.

 

***

_“Oh, my God,” she squealed, “that is _so cool!_ To have super-strength and take out the bad guys…”_

 

_Buffy rolled her eyes.  “Oh, yeah,” she retorted, “I get to kill vampires and other evil demon-y things and risk my life and wardrobe every night.  Big whoop.”_

 

_Dawn frowned. “Way to suck the enthusiasm out of the room, Buffy,” she said, as snippily as possible.  “I mean, _come on_! You’re like a superhero!”_

 

_“Don’t you get it, Dawn?” Buffy snapped.  “Okay, yay for Slayer-strength and Slayer-speed, and extra yay for Slayer-healing, but it is a _death sentence_.  I get a short, violent life filled with Slaying every night until I get killed.  Excuse me for not doing cartwheels about it.”_

 

***

Dawn had just propped the sword in the corner and sat down upon her bed when Mom peeked in.  “Will you be all right here alone, sweetie?” she asked, crossing to sit beside her on the bed.  “I’ve got to take this month’s shipment at the gallery today, because Donna always manages to mismatch everything on the invoice…”

 

Dawn smiled and leaned against her mother’s shoulder.  “Yeah, Mom, I’ll be fine.  I guess I do feel kinda… weird today.”

 

Mom pressed a light kiss to her forehead.  “Then you should rest, so that you’ll be ready for your patrol tonight.  You do feel like you’re running a little fever, so remember to take some Tylenol, all right?”  She left then, closing the door behind her, but not before Dawn heard her sister railing that it wasn’t fair Dawn got to stay home when she wasn’t really sick.  Only moments later, she heard the Jeep start up and move out of the drive.

 

A self-satisfied smile curved Dawn’s lips as she dropped backward to lay across her bed.  “You’re just mad ‘cause you didn’t have the sense to tell Mom you were a Slayer outright,” she said, even though she knew she was confusing the Buffy in _her_ world with this Buffy.  “No, you had to hide it, and be all stoic-Slayer-on-my-own…” She trailed off, staring up at the ceiling.  “Except you weren’t, not really.  You always had Xander and Willow and Giles, until Giles went back to England.  So hey, maybe they’ll be _my_ friends now.”

 

_Or maybe they’re still Buffy’s age, and you’re still only 15,_ another voice whispered in her head, in such a calm, reasonable tone that she instantly wanted to disregard it.

 

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed quietly, “they lived to help the Slayer.  Even if they _are_ still Buffy’s age, they _won’t_ be her friends.  Before she got all Chosen, she was like the Queen C of Hemery, and they would have completely been like outcasts to her.”

 

_So let’s see who’s right,_ that voice of reason said.  _I mean, if you’re the Slayer here, you – the Slayer-you, anyway – must have some history or some memories or something… see if you can find some._

 

Dawn frowned.  That didn’t sound like anything she knew about herself at all.  “Wouldn’t it all be my memories anyway? I mean, _me_-me, Key-me, not Slayer-me?”

 

_No matter how _you_ got _here_, there have got to be some clues, so you don’t look like a complete idiot… or at least, any more of one than usual.  Try looking and see._

 

She didn’t have to go looking; they tumbled over her in the next instant.

 

***

_What do you mean, you stupid monk?  Of _course _Buffy’s my sister! She’s always been there, my big pain in the butt big sister! No, no, no, she’s not this Key-thing, it’s just a mistake, you’re wrong… she’s _real! _She _is! _No, don’t you go and _die_ on me, wake up and tell me that it’s a lie!_

 

***

_“Hey, Dawnie, come hang out with us tonight at the Bronze.” Janice lowered her voice slightly and opened the door to the school library.  “Chris said that his friend Tim – you know, that really _cute_ one? – said he wanted to get to know you better…”_

 

_“Really?” Dawn fought to keep her voice from going up into _squee_ mode.  “Oh, and he is just the _hottest_ boy in school!  What time?”_

 

_“Miss Summers,” and Dawn wasn’t quite sure where adults learned that tone of voice that made a teenager feel about 3 inches tall, but _damn_, Wesley had it down pat, “have you forgotten your detention?”_

 

_Dawn sighed gustily.  _Detention _was the code word for _patrol.  _“No, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce,” she replied dutifully.  “I haven’t.”  She glanced over at Janice.  “Sorry, guess I’ll have to pass.”_

 

_Janice hugged her books tighter to her stomach.  “Guess so.  What did you do to get into trouble _this_ time?”_

 

_Anger sizzled through her, and it was on the tip of her tongue to say,_ I’m not in trouble, I’m saving the world for your ungrateful…_ but then she caught sight of Wes’s look of dark warning, and remembered she was still very much in trouble for telling Mom.  Instead, she shrugged.  “See you tomorrow?”_

 

_Janice nodded and backed toward the door.  “Yeah, tomorrow.  I guess.”_

 

_Stomach twisting, Dawn sat down at the long table in the middle of the library, remembering when she’d been able to go to school without being exhausted and ace her exams and not _lie_ to her friends.  It seemed weird now to have taken those days for granted._

 

***

_Janice!  Where have you _been?_ We’ve been worried about you! What happened? Why… oh, no, no, no… you got turned, how could you have gotten turned…_

 

_Oh, no.  It was _me_.  It’s my fault, because I didn’t want to go near the Bronze while you guys were there, so I patrolled the cemeteries, my fault, _my fault_…_

 

***

_“No, Daddy, stop!  Stop it!  You’re _hurting _me!_  _Please, Daddy!” Dawn pleaded, twisting and crying as she tried to pull away from her father, but she couldn’t._

 

_Her father said nothing, his knee planted in the small of her back to hold her down, pulling back on both of her arms until she thought they would pop from their sockets._

 

_“Daddy, _please…_” she whimpered into the carpet, forcing herself to go limp.  “Please don’t…”_

 

_After lying still for a few seconds, she felt the incredible pressure on her shoulders slackened some, as her father relaxed his hold on her.  Quickly she tensed, bucking her whole body upward.  He lost his balance and fell away from her.  In another instant, she was up, scrambling away.  But even moving as fast as she could –_ incredibly fast_ – he caught her again at the head of the stairs._

 

This _time, she was ready for him, and when he lunged for her, she caught his arm and twisted it behind him, sending him face first into the wall at the top of the stairs.  “Daddy, why are you doing this?” she asked, forgetting, in her distress, to make sure that she locked her hold._

 

_He didn’t answer, just pushed himself away from the wall with ease.  Sobbing, betrayal and anger tearing her up inside, she kept hold of his arm and used his own momentum against him…_

 

_… and flung him down the stairs.  There was a sickening_ grunch _when he hit the bottom, and he lay still, his head at a completely unnatural angle, eyes wide and staring._

 

_“Daddy?” she whispered, creeping down the stairs. “Daddy?”_

 

_Just then the front door opened and her mother entered, nearly stumbling over her husband’s still body.  “Oh, my God, Hank!” she cried, and knelt by him, her fingers on his throat, trying to find a pulse._

 

_“Is… is he all right, Mom?” Dawn asked, her voice barely audible.  Her legs gave out and she sat down on the lowest step, knowing, knowing, _knowing_ that he _wasn’t.

 

_Mom looked at her, brown eyes shocked.  “Dawn, what have you done?”_

 

***

_“Your father attacked you?” Wesley asked, pushing his glasses up into their proper position.  “And after you killed him, he started to dissolve into a clear viscous fluid?”_

 

_Dawn shuddered.  “Yes,” she said, and no, her voice was _not_ shaking.  “Into goo.”_

 

_Wes’s expression softened.  “Dawn, I don’t believe that was your father.  It sounds more like a Warth’nar demon.  They are shape-shifters. I can show it to you in one of my books.”_

 

_It took a while for the words to register, but when they did, Dawn brightened considerably.  “You mean… that _wasn’t_ my father?”_

 

_“No, I don’t believe it was, but…”_

 

_“Then he’s… he’s okay!  C’mon, Wes, we’ve got to find him!”_

 

_Looking sad, Wes shook his head.  “We cannot, Dawn,” he said, as gently as he could. “Warth’nar demons take on the appearance of their victims… by consuming their entire body, usually before they are completely dead.”_

 

_She stared at him in dull shock, completely unaware of the tears streaming down her cheeks, until, coughing and blushing in acute embarrassment, he took pity on her and drew her into an awkward embrace._

 

***

Dawn was more than grateful to escape the prison _home_ had suddenly become.  She’d woken up on her bed, crying her eyes out over what had happened to the Slayer that wore her face, and had spend the rest of the day trying to assimilate it.  Dinner was even worse, because Mom and Buffy were _right there_.  It was like walking through a minefield, because all of the things they remembered hadn’t _happened_ to her, not _really_, and wow, did it feel _fake_ to try to talk about any of it.

 

As soon as dinner was over, she gathered her stakes and slipped away, only to walk aimlessly through the closest cemetery.  _I hope there’s some kind of vamp-dar to being the Slayer,_ she thought, kicking a rock and watching it shatter into the curb, _even though Buffy never said anything about it.  Because I have got _no_ idea_

 

She slowed then stopped, looking around and suddenly remembering.  _Hey… this is where Spike lives… lived.  I wonder if he’s here in my Slayer-verse?_

 

_Only one way to find out, I guess…_ She set off more purposefully through the headstones, letting her feet find their own path.

 

On the way, she discovered that if she thought too hard about it, she couldn’t catch the stake when she tossed it up in the air.  _And that,_ she thought in disgust, _bodes really _well_ for the next fight I get into… I hope Spike is there._

 

The crypt was familiar – both from her own memories and the patrol-memories of Slayer-Dawn – but dark.  The door protested briefly when she pushed, then swung open with a crash against the interior wall.  She winced at the noise, but entered anyway, letting her eyes adjust to the dark.

 

It was empty.  Dusty and dirty – not that Spike had been a great housekeeper anyway – but even besides that, it had that _nobody’s here_ sense.  No ancient television, no ratty old chair, no candles, no Spike.

 

Sighing heavily, she leaned against one of the sarcophagi, then slid down to sit on the floor, despite how dirty it was.  _Guess I wanted to see him more than I thought._  She let her head fall back against the stone and closed her eyes.

 

“Oi, Nibblet, what are you doin’ here?”

 

“Talking to myself,” she answered without thinking, then opened her eyes when the voice registered.  “Spike?”

 

The crypt was still unlit and untenanted, but now she could _see_ Spike leaning against the support column right across from her.  He gave her a shy smile – she always thought that Buffy would _melt_ if she ever saw the smiles he kept just for _her_ – and it was like no time had passed; he’d never tried to rape her sister, and none of the other bad things pounding on her brain had happened.  Dawn lurched gracelessly to her feet and took a step toward him.

 

He held out a hand, shaking his head, and she stopped, staring at him.  “Spike?” she asked, her tone filled with confusion.

 

“’m not really here, Dawn,” he said, and ouch.  She hadn’t remembered how it felt to have Spike call her nicknames until he hadn’t anymore.  “Just a ghost, see?” He lifted one arm and away from the rest of his black-clad body, she could see a ripple of unearthly light flowing along the outline.

 

She swallowed.  “A… ghost?”

 

Funny how even though it was so dark, she could still see him tilt his head a little.  Maybe it was because his hair was so bright.  “Yeah.  Got done for in the Hellmouth.”

 

Suddenly memories – _her_ memories, not from Slayer-Dawn – rushed down on her in their very own flood, and she realized that she’d been sent more than just a year into what should have been her own past.  Potentials filling the house, Spike in the basement, Xander losing his eye, _oh, my God,_ Willow’s major mojo and finally, the crater that used to be Sunnydale, and Buffy saying Spike’s name like she was _proud_ of him, and did that mean it was a _good_ thing that he was dead…?

 

“You remember it all now?” Spike asked softly, and pushed himself off the column.

 

“Yeah,” Dawn croaked, her voice suddenly thick with tears, like it had been all day.  She slumped back against the sarcophagus, stone digging into her back. “Yeah, Spike, I remember, I’m so sorry…”

 

He glanced away from her.  “Don’t be, Nib – Dawn.  You had your reasons, and… and I guess I was ready.  World won’t miss one more vamp, anyway.”

 

“I miss you,” she whispered, and swallowed.

 

She was about to say, _Buffy misses you, too_ – because she slept in the same motel rooms as her sister, and she knew just what her sister was dreaming about these days – when Spike shook his head and cut her off.  “If you remember it all,” he said, and she knew from the clipped way he spoke that he was really trying to sidestep the conversation that _she_ wanted to have.  “Then you know how you got here.”  He frowned at her with all the stern-ness he could muster, and she squirmed in guilt.  “Thought you’d learned that lesson, bit.”

 

“I did,” she protested, but weakly, because she knew he was right.  “Really!  I just was so frustrated… I…”

 

_“I wish I’d gotten called instead of Buffy… then maybe things would be… different.  Better.”_

 

She sighed again as the recollection prodded her conscience. “All right, I screwed up again.  I didn’t mean it.”

 

He relented, and she was instantly reminded of Wesley, who’d somehow changed from the stiff, stuck-up sissy she remembered from _her_ world to the slowly-bending-almost-but-not-quite-Gilesian Watcher she remembered breaking in from _this_ one.  “I know you didn’t,” he said, and sat down on the sarcophagus.  “But you know how wish-granters work, right?  It’s never as straightforward as you think.”

 

She bit her lip.  “I know… but now that I’m here, it’s different, right?  No Slayers getting called back from the dead and letting the First Evil come piggy-backing through.  That means…”

 

“It’s already different here, Dawn,” he said, and just _how_ had she forgotten that his eyes were so sharply blue?  “Yeah, you got Chosen ‘stead of big sis, but you didn’t get Called at the same _time_.  You woulda been all of what, ten?  They don’t Call ‘em that young, pet.  Someone else got Chosen first.  Pretty chit from Jamaica, all for obeyin’ her Watcher and doin’ things by the book.  Fought her once while I was tryin’ to heal Dru.  She was somethin’.”

 

“Kendra?” Slowly, her surprise at Spike’s words faded, and Dawn nodded.  “That makes sense.  She was Called after Buffy died the first time.  She was…” She trailed off, remembering what Kendra had been like.

 

“She was doin’ her job,” Spike finished when she said no more.  “She was all business, and she was good at it, for all she didn’t have Buffy’s imagination.  She killed me in this universe, that night I healed Dru in ours.”

 

“You’re… you’re already dead?  Here?” she asked, her voice small.  “I can’t change it?”

 

“No, pet,” he said, reaching out to stroke her hair before recalling himself.  “You can’t.”

 

“What about the others?  Tara and Willow and…”

 

“Dawn… you said you wanted it different,” he interrupted, eyes boring into her.  “It is.”

 

She recoiled at his words, at the emotion in them, fierce and barely restrained.  Unable to bear his gaze anymore, she turned away.  After a long silence, she said, “I didn’t want _that_.”  She wouldn’t let her voice hitch.  _I created this screwed-up world,_ she thought.  _I don’t think I deserve to feel that sorry for myself._  “I didn’t want _any_ of that. I just…”

 

“You wanted Buffy’s powers,” he said, then, as she nodded (because he _always_ understood her), he continued, “You didn’t want any of her pain, though.”

 

“No.  But I got it anyway… just as much, only different.”  She dared to glance at him once more, her lips curved in a humorless smile.  “Seems like Buffy was right – a life full of pain and violence.  At least she had her friends…”

 

“She’s also got you, Nibblet,” Spike said, and managed to warm the places inside her that felt like they’d turned to ice.  “She needs you as much as she needs her mates, maybe even more.  And you need her just as much.”

 

“I don’t want to be here anymore, Spike,” Dawn said.  “I want _my_ sister, the cranky, bitchy, overcame-death-and-the-forces-of-Hell Buffy.  The one here is just a pale Queen C imitation.”

 

Spike’s look of surprise transformed into his habitual smirk.  “Not up to snuff, is she?”

 

Immediately, she shook her head.  “Not even close.  Maybe this universe’s me can deal with her, but I sure can’t.  How can I go back?  Do I have to find some ruby slippers and click them or what?”

 

He gave a short huff of laughter.  “Nothin’ so involved, pet.  Just take back the wish, is all.”

 

She took a breath, about to do just that, when another thought struck her.  “But you won’t be there, will you?” she asked mournfully.

 

Again, he reached out to her and jerked his hand back before it would have become clear he was a ghost.  “No, bit, I won’t,” he replied, sounding as sad as she’d ever heard him.  “Won’t be all ghostly there, just dust.”

 

“I’ll still miss you, you know.”

 

Again, he gave her his tiny smile.  “Yeah, I know.”  Then he nodded.  “Go on now.”

 

She took a deep breath.  “I take back my wish.”  As soon as she had spoken, she turned to Spike.  “Is that –”

 

***

When Dawn woke up, she knew that _this_ was really the Real World ™.  The ceiling over her was unfamiliar, covered with dust and flyspecks, and the room was one of those generic kind of rooms that just _screamed_ “cheap motel”.  It was probably the room she went to sleep in the night before – the _real_ night before, not the night before in that nightmare of a fantasy world – because if she’d been out of it for more than just a night, there was _no way_ Buffy would be asleep, and those were _definitely_ her sister’s snores.

 

The memories of the other world were still there, though, she realized as she sat up.  Kind of… faded, like the way she remembered the man who was supposedly her father in this world, like they were really old, but definitely _there_.

 

She _had_ been frustrated when she’d spoken those words, just as she’d told Spike.  And maybe there had been something about that woman in the restaurant that had reminded her of Halfrek _(and Anya, poor Anya)_.

 

_But even if I _did_ know for sure she was a wish granter,_ Dawn thought, hitching herself up to lean against the wall, _what that really meant was that I should have kept my mouth shut._

 

Just for a second, thinking of that wish, Dawn really wanted this to be another check in the _demons are bad!_ column.  She hadn’t asked for what she’d gotten, and it had been nothing but pain and disappointment and…

 

_And… wow_, she thought suddenly.  _Isn’t that what Buffy’s had all this time?_

 

Wishes were supposed to be spur-of-the-moment-y, so, by their very nature (_oh, don’t I just sound like Giles!_ she thought, impressed), they were… very much open to interpretation.  What she’d _thought_ she wished for and what she’d actually _said_ were different, just as Spike had pointed out, and the demon had pounced on that space between.

 

_I guess whoever it was that said_ be careful what you wish for_ was right._

 

Buffy shifted, as if somehow aware she was awake.  “Dawnie?” she called sleepily.  “Everything all right?”

 

“Yeah, Buffy,” she answered, keeping her voice quiet.  “It was just a dream.  Go back to sleep.”

 

“Just a dream,” Buffy repeated, and Dawn could tell she was already falling back to sleep.  Then her breathing deepened and slowed once more.

 

And just once, Dawn remembered what it was like to protect her sister.

 

***

August 30, 2009


End file.
